


Eye of the Storm

by redmacallan



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: M/M, Some mentions of blood, it's got a shower, red's Zero Hour Hot Take
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redmacallan/pseuds/redmacallan
Summary: "S-sorry," he stuttered out.Zeb shushed him. "Shh. It's okay. Well," and he paused, his hand stilling on Kallus's back, "not all of it is. But you should, you know," he gestured vaguely, "sort yourself out. Before you apologise."Kallus recovers in the aftermath of the events in Zero Hour, and maybe Zeb does too.





	Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to biting_moopie for beta-ing. They're amazing. :)

He hurt.

It was a foolish, pointless thing to think at that moment, but he hadn't really registered it before. There had been too much adrenaline in his system, his mind too occupied with ‒

Well, with other things.

Then, though, it was the most pleasant thing to focus on, in some strange way. The corridor was cramped at best: droids and living beings curled up against the walls, eyes flickering between fear and elation. He tried not to think of them of how one, two, _most_ , could've been hurt as a direct result of his actions, tried not to think of those who _had_ been hurt because of him, those who couldn't be there.

No, it was best not to think of that. Best to focus on the pain.

His lip stung, in the sort of way that papercuts do, and another few grazes throbbed on his forehead. He could feel bruises blooming: on his cheek, his upper arms, the nasty one around his eye, the nastier series of ones running around his neck and stomach and ribs.

It hurt to breathe. He was lucky he'd escaped with only this.

People were talking around him, that much he could tell. A medical droid had spoken to him when he had first come aboard, but he'd shooed it away, saying it was just bruises, and that there were others who needed it more.

There _were_ others. He'd heard, somewhere in the chatter, that someone had lost a leg. He could deal with a cut or two.

He resigned himself to shutting his eyes, curled up in the corner and pretending to nap. It seemed to work, as no-one bothered him, though whether that was because he looked to be asleep or because he was still in uniform, he couldn't tell.

One by one, however, the beings around him seemed to leave, heading into spare rooms or lockers or beds on the ship, the door opening and closing each time, until Kallus was sure it was only him left.

He squinted around the room. Yep. Only him.

He sighed, slumped against the wall and then curled in on himself again. Without the body heat, the room was cold.

_I guess they must be trying to save power by keeping the heating down._ He shivered.

The door slid open, unexpectedly, and Kallus screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to bother anyone.

"You look awful."

Kallus jerked his head up, momentarily forgetting that it would hurt his neck, and winced in pain. His eyes unfocused themselves, and he had to blink to see who was talking.

Then again, there was only one being who spoke like that. He would've been able to tell who it was even with his eyes closed.

He blinked up at Zeb. "I..." _I what?_ "I apologise."

Zeb snorted. "For what?" He stared at Kallus for the first time since he'd been on board. "You feeling okay in the head?"

"Yes." Kallus nodded as slowly as he could. "I-I'll just ‒"

He moved his torso slightly and hissed in pain.

Zeb's stare became a concerned frown. "Can you stand?" He offered his hand and crouched down. "I can carry you, if you want."

"What?" The word was little above a whisper.

"You look like shit. I'm here to help you out."

Kallus kept staring at him blankly.

Zeb squinted. "You sure your head's alright?"

"I'm sure." Zeb's offer of carrying him sounded all too enticing for reasons he tucked away neatly in his head, but Kallus forced his expression to stay still as he pushed himself upright.

He teetered and stubbornly put himself right with a hand on the wall.

"Okay, well..." Zeb looked him up and down, then turned, heading towards what Kallus assumed was the Ghost's common area. "Follow me."

Kallus's leg ached, but he refused to show it, doing his best to walk naturally into the room.

The place was strangely empty. He assumed Syndulla was flying the ship, and that perhaps the other passengers had found places to sleep that weren't corridors.

He stood awkwardly in the doorway.

Zeb strolled over to a box, one of several laid out along one of the room's walls, and grabbed a packet and a bottle from it. He sat down on the couch, plopped the objects down on the table, and patted the space beside him. "Take a seat."

Kallus did so, trying his best to mask the relief he felt at no longer having to stand, and turned his attention to the two objects Zeb had brought. The bottle, predictably, read 'WATER', and the packet seemed to be a ration bar.

"Sorry," Zeb said, laughing weakly. "They're all we've got left. Lots of hungry folks."

Kallus's stomach growled. He shook his head. "Thank you," he muttered, opening the bar.

The thought struck him, then, that maybe he shouldn't be taking food from others (who needed it, deserved it, couldn't just suck it up like he _should be doing_ ) and that maybe even Zeb hadn't eaten, that this was some kind of test, some ploy, _something_ , made to catch him out and... and...

Maker, he didn't know. He didn't know.

He tore the bar in two carefully, eyeing up the pieces. His stomach cursed as well as it could, and he shouted internally for it to shut up. He handed the larger to Zeb.

"Hmm?" Zeb raised his brow. "No, it's for you." He frowned and patted Kallus's hand. "You need to eat."

Kallus took a cautious bite, slower than he would've liked. Zeb was there, after all, watching him.

He was so hungry he could cry.

He chewed, slowly, registering somewhere in the back of his mind that Zeb had got one of his favourite flavours, and swallowed. His throat or neck or something hurt as he did. He grimaced.

Zeb patted his hand again. "Okay?"

Kallus just nodded, numbly. Zeb nodded in return, grabbing the bottle of water and starting to unscrew it.

Kallus's stomach growled again. He took another bite.

"So," Zeb said, "you're going to have a nice black eye tomorrow."

Kallus just nodded again, eating some more of the bar, any pretence at control now overtaken by hunger.

"Not up to talking?" Zeb finally finished with the water, placing it down in front of Kallus and patting his hand again. "Okay."

Kallus finished the bar quickly, gulping it down and ignoring the pain as best he could, refusing to acknowledge the tiny pinpricks of tears in his eyes. He grabbed the water, unable to care enough about looking desperate and chugged it, breathless and _awful_ and ‒

"Hey, hey." Zeb pried the water from his hands about halfway through. "Easy. You can have it when you want, doesn't need to be all in one go."

And stars, his earlier thought about being so hungry he could cry was apparently true, because he could barely swallow the last mouthful of water as his throat choked up and he realised he was crying, drops of water (or tears? he could hardly tell) falling onto the table in front of him.

"Kallus?" Zeb's hand hovered by his side.

Kallus choked out another sob.

"Karabast." Zeb shifted closer to him and placed a hand on his back, rubbing small circles into Kallus's shirt. "It's ‒ it's okay. You'll be okay."

Kallus sniffed. His eyes watered, and between the black eye and the tears, he could barely see. He could see enough, though ‒ enough to make out the drops on the table in front of him and, as he turned his head, to see Zeb's face, blurred and exasperated.

His chest twinged at the sight, piling on another layer of guilt. He realised that all Zeb had seen was him cry after drinking some water ( _that Zeb had brought_ ), and he must look...

Well, ungrateful, really.

He couldn't blame his sudden nausea on the ration bar.

_You should apologise._ "S-sorry," he stuttered out.

Zeb shushed him. "Shh. It's okay. Well," and he paused, his hand stilling on Kallus's back, "not all of it is. But you should, you know," he gestured vaguely, "sort yourself out. Before you apologise."

Kallus exhaled, curling his arms around himself, deliberately careful around his ribs. Shame curled in his stomach, and for a long moment, a bitter, angry voice in his head asked him just _what_ he thought he was doing, and exactly _where_ was the man who had stood up to Thrawn just hours ago, who had risked his life to protect what he thought was right, who had been brave and loyal, instead of crying and curling up on the couch of his former enemies.

_Gone. Gone. He’s gone._

The look on Zeb’s face from earlier ‒ that look that said _well, this one’s hopeless,_ flashed behind his eyes.

_That man’s not_ really _gone_ , said the bitter voice. _Zeb doesn’t think so._

His finger twitched. It dug into his ribs.

Zeb's hand slid off to rest behind Kallus. They were quiet for a moment, with only Kallus's sniffs filling the air.

His stomach growled, loudly.

"Still hungry?" Zeb asked.

Kallus shook his head. He couldn't face eating again.

"Okay, well... We'll get you cleaned up. All right?" Zeb stood up. "Stay right here. I'm just getting you some clothes."

And with that, he was out of the room, leaving Kallus to contemplate his surroundings.

The Ghost was more homely than most ships he'd been on. Sure, those ships had largely been Imperial (apart from that one trader who helped him off Bathryn _don't think about that don't think about that_ ) but even the non-Imperial ones had rarely had what were obviously sorts of heirlooms as furniture, or posters scattered on the walls, or shopping lists scrawled around the place.

And, as he looked around more, he could see other things. Dents from where a droid had collided with a wall. Bolts just slightly loosened. Parts missing and parts shoved into corners, the odds and ends of everyday life.

This was their _home_. He'd never felt so out of place, so unworthy.

Even as a cadet, his bunk was his own, and his toothbrush, and his shoes, and his clothes, and he'd at least been worthy of those.

He didn't deserve to drink this group – this _family's_ – water, to eat their food, to borrow their clothes and bother their members and sit and stare at their belongings, mind racing to make up little stories about each item's past in a desperate bid to distract himself.

Zeb walked back in with a pile of clothes and cut his train of thought short.

"Hey. 'Fresher's free, so you can shower."

_Really, has everyone on this ship blacked out at once?_ Zeb handed him the pile of clothes. "Got you these, too. Not sure how well they'll fit, but they're clean."

"Thank –" and Kallus stuttered, reminding himself that that was _all he'd been trying to say for the past ten minutes_ but then _it's important to say it,_ "Thank you."

"No problem." Zeb patted him on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll show you to the ‘fresher."

Zeb led him to a door running off one of the places' corridors, pressed a button on the side, and stepped inside.

"Shower's round there. Soap should be on a shelf somewhere. Oh, and," he chuckled, "don't use the bottle with Ezra's name on it." He stepped back, heading towards the door. "I'll give you some privacy."

Kallus's nod was his only reply.

The door slid closed behind Zeb, and Kallus skulked behind the corner to the shower. It seemed normal enough ‒ the sort of model found on very old Imperial ships, but functional.

He stripped, unlocking the clasps on his cuirass and boots and placing them to one side, separated from the rest of his clothes. He sighed, turned on the shower and stepped under the lukewarm spray, finally looking at his own injuries.

Well. Those were... worse than expected.

The bruises he’d felt earlier were there, purple and angry on his skin, and as he twisted to get a better look, his hips cried out in pain.

He peered at it. The joint itself looked swollen. Probably a bruised bone there, then.

He reached out a hand for the soap, the well-used bar almost slipping from his grasp before he caught it. He massaged the soap into his hip, trying to work out some of the stiffness, but to no avail, and all he noticed was that one of his ribs seemed to wince every time he moved his arm.

He placed the soap back down and prodded the rib gingerly. Yep. Cracked.

Kallus sighed. He wasn't sure how much a shower was really going to help.

Still, he refused to waste the water. He scrubbed some blood out of his hair where it had dried and matted, and washed away the areas where the blood had smeared. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as the water turned pinkish-brown and swirled away.

He worked some more soap where the muscles in his arms hurt, too, hoping it would at least stop him smelling too bad, and switched off the shower.

It'd do.

His towel was quickly used and folded to one side, and he slipped into the clothes Zeb had given him. They were old – the pants had a hole in the bottom from age – but they covered most of him.

The shirt smelled like Zeb. A single, purple hair clung stubbornly to the surface. He tried not to think too hard about that.

He walked out, towel in hand. Zeb was perched on a seat, hands clasped and head bowed in contemplation.

He glanced up at Kallus as he walked in. "Hey. Clothes fit all right?"

"Mostly." The shirt was slipping off his shoulders, but it still stayed on the rest of him.

Zeb grinned. "Great. Can I, uh..." He coughed, nervously. "Can I see your wounds?" He extracted a box from beneath his chair. "I brought supplies."

"Thank you." Kallus shuffled awkwardly. "Where should I –"

"Oh. Just sit wherever you want."

Kallus took a seat a meter or so away from him, his whole body tense. Zeb unclipped the box and pulled out a few bandages and a tub of bacta.

He slid closer to Kallus. "Okay. 'M ready."

Kallus fiddled with his shirt collar. "Should I –"

"Yeah," Zeb cut in, suddenly very quiet. "You need a hand?"

"No, I'm –" and he pulled the shirt off over his shoulders, eyes pointed firmly down at the bench in front of him.

Zeb stared, which...

Well, it wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't helping with the pain. He didn't think Zeb just wanted to watch him suffer, but it was still a possibility.

"Is –" Kallus started. Zeb snapped back up to look at his face. "Is there a problem?"

"No. No," said Zeb, a little too quickly, "just. Just looking. At bruises. Give me a second."

Zeb grabbed the towel from Kallus's pile of clothes and dabbed away some water around this ribs and back. He placed it down, slathered some bacta over the wounds, then grabbed and unwrapped a bandage, wrapping it around Kallus's torso.

"Not too tight?" Zeb tugged on the bandage, slipping a finger beneath to check. "Doesn't hurt it more?"

Kallus took a deep breath. "It's fine."

"You sure?" At Kallus's nod, he touched his fingers to Kallus's shoulder again, brushing his way down his arm. "Tell me if it hurts."

He poked Kallus's forearm in a way that ached, but Kallus said nothing. Zeb kept staring, reverent.

Kallus could feel himself blushing all the way down to his neck. He supposed he was lucky that wasn't where Zeb was looking.

"You're all freckle-y," he whispered, eventually. He grinned up at Kallus's face. "I never noticed."

And, well, if Kallus hadn't been blushing, he was now because _what was that supposed to mean_ and _what was Zeb trying to do_ and _how was he supposed to react_.

He opened his mouth to say something, realised he had nothing to say, and quickly thought better of it.

Zeb's hand reached his, curling into the gaps, huge and _comforting_ (and Maker, he really _did_ need to think about that later) and stroked a thumb over the back of Kallus's hand.

And then he squeezed, and Kallus yelped.

A flurry of expletives came from Zeb's mouth in a variety of languages, each of them strangely panicked and high pitched considering the situation.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, desperately.

Kallus shook his head, but there was no hiding it now.

"Let me see." Zeb snatched his hand again and turned it over. There, hidden in the folds of his knuckles and the pad of his thumb, were the unmistakable purple bruises.

Another bandage and layer of bacta were quickly pulled from the box and wrapped intricately around Kallus's fingers, Zeb muttering the whole time.

"Kallus, you have to – shit, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –"

Kallus's stomach twisted again at the apology. "It was my own fault."

Zeb scowled. "No, I shouldn't have – I should've _asked_ –"

"No, I-I tucked my knuckle in. When punching." A lie.

"Rookie mistake. You wouldn't. So it _was_ Thrawn." Zeb sighed. "You don't have to hide it here, you know. We've all been hurt by him. No one'll judge you."

"They've – _you've_ been hurt more than me."

"Stop downplaying yourself." Zeb finished his hand and let out a long sigh with his eyes shut.

Kallus's guts twisted nervously, unsure of what to do. "S–"

"Don't." Zeb held up a hand. He stood up, picking up the medical supplies. "Let's get some sleep, yeah?"

_I can't._ Kallus stayed silent, tugged on his shirt, and followed him out of the refresher.

Zeb made his way towards a room, but stopped in the corridor and turned towards another.

"Here. Lemme show you something." He opened a door and stood in the room's entrance, beckoning Kallus to stand beside him. "C'mon."

Kallus peered into the room. It was too dark to appreciate it properly, but even in the half-light of the corridor, he could see the splashes of colour across every wall, the painted rendition of the Ghost's crew across the ceiling, the loth-cats and words and song lyrics and –

"Is that –"

"Us?" Zeb chuckled, warm and genuine. "Yup. 'Bine painted it after you helped Kanan and Ezra out on Lothal."

Kallus stared at the painting again, squinting into the darkness at its – at _their_ painted smiles.

He'd never made Zeb smile like that before. He couldn't remember having smiled like that before.

He felt numb again. The bruise on his cheek throbbed.

Zeb patted him gently on the shoulder. "You like it?"

He did. It was well-painted, strangely, and though the colours she'd picked weren't realistic, they complemented each other well. The image helped tie the room together too, one more splash of gaudy colour keeping it all consistent.

It also made his chest ache and his eyes water and his mouth twitch up at the corners in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Yes," he said, finally, dumbly.

Zeb grinned at him. "Then you can thank her in the morning." He turned away, leaving Kallus gazing into his own cartoonish, stupidly happy eyes a moment longer before tearing himself away, sliding the door shut behind him.

Zeb had already opened his own room. There were two bunks, like in Sabine's, though they both looked recently occupied in this case.

Zeb sat him down on the bottom bunk. "This one's usually mine," he explained, "but it's yours, tonight."

"I don't –"

"You can't have Ezra's. He'll be annoyed and you'll break your leg again climbing down from it." Zeb smirked. "I _have_ thought this through, unbelievably."

Kallus bit the inside of his lip, uncomfortable but unwilling to protest.

"I'll get you a blanket," said Zeb, grin still plastered on his face. He opened a box from underneath a table and pulled one out, brown and green and woollen-looking.

He wrapped it around Kallus's shoulders. "Better?"

_I'm not sure._ "Yes."

"Okay." Zeb shuffled his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, like he was unwilling to leave. "Well, I'll just –"

Kallus grabbed him, then, mind fogged with sleep and exhaustion and _possible blood loss_ and tried to find the right way to express that Zeb leaving right now was a _very bad idea_.

"Can you – Just – I don't –" Kallus made a harsh, exasperated sound, angry with the sound of his own voice just messing everything up, _again_ , never getting through properly, never being right, just –

Zeb sat back down next to him. "Don't want to be alone right now?"

"...Yes." Kallus stared at the floor, ashamed.

"Okay." Zeb down sat next to him on the bed and patted his arm gently. "That's okay. Thanks for telling me." He put his hand behind Kallus, resting it on the bed. "Do you want to talk?"

"No, I –" Kallus's brain raced to come up with the right words. "I don't think I can."

Zeb chuckled. "You've been doing all right so far. You sure?"

"I –" and Kallus stared at him, ready to reject the offer. Zeb stared back at him, a wary, hopeful smile on his face. All he could say, then, was "I'll try."

Zeb beamed at him. "Great." He patted him on the back. "Tell me if you want to sleep, all right?"

Kallus smiled, unsurely. "Okay."

"Okay, so..." Zeb laughed, just as unsure. "You got any hobbies?"

_Genocide_ , his mind filled in.

"I'm not sure," he offered, instead.

"Really? You've got to like something. Races?" He smirked good-naturedly. "Actually, no, you're Coruscanti, you probably like operas or something."

Kallus let out a short laugh. "Haven't been since I was a child. Too busy."

"You gamble? Sabacc?"

"A little." _I must sound like the most boring person in the galaxy._

The thought struck him that he probably was, and another thought struck him that he probably wasn't, that his time had been taken up previously with –

Well, no reason not to put it bluntly to himself. With _murder_.

The knot in his stomach tightened again, painful and nauseating.

"We'll have to play together. There's a guy back on base, one of the pilots, he plays with me and Rex –"

Zeb suddenly went quiet, trailing off. Kallus glared down at the floor, unsure of what to do.

"Zeb?" In the almost-silence, his voice sounded off, alien and distant and warped.

"He's gone." Zeb swore. "They're all gone. It hadn't sunk in, how they're all –"

A choked, awful sob came from him, broken and grieving, and Kallus's body tensed, wanting to scream and cry and hug Zeb and apologise and _go back to Thrawn and die_ all at once.

He looked up at Zeb. He was staring into the wall opposite, expression suddenly raw and tragic, like he'd remembered to be sad after a long time.

Kallus bit down on the inside of his mouth. He tasted copper again as his lip split open.

He couldn't – he couldn't _do_ anything, couldn't help someone who'd done more for him in the past half hour than people he'd known all his life had; couldn't do _anything_ but sit there and _panic uselessly_ and taste his own blood in his mouth.

He lifted his arms, shaking and weak, and pulled the blanket off himself. Zeb looked at him, curiously, but said nothing.

Kallus tried vainly to fold the blanket into some semblance of neatness, flattening it out in his lap and handing it to Zeb.

"I –" He grimaced, trying to find the right words. "I think you need it more than I do right now."

Zeb stared at him in disbelief through sad, grieving eyes, and then his mouth twitched up in a smile. "I could say the same." He blinked back his own tears and placed a hand on Kallus's shoulder. "You're shaking."

"T-take it." He pried Zeb's hand off his shoulder – he was right, his hand _was_ shaking – and pressed down on the blanket. "Please. P–" and he hated that he was stuttering, hated that he couldn't even give away a simple blanket without some breakdown "– please, Zeb."

Zeb just smiled, genuine and kind. "C'mere. We can share."

And with that, they were leaning next to each other, hip to hip, as Zeb wound the blanket around them both, circling his arm around Kallus once he was done.

"Not hurting you like this?"

"No." _You couldn't, even if you hit me like Thrawn did. It wouldn't hurt._

"Good." Zeb sighed, his breath hitting Kallus's shoulder. "I... I don't want to hurt you." He stroked Kallus's hip. "You're safe here. You know that, right?"

"Yes." _No._ He was putting them all in danger by being there. He was far from safe.

"Okay. Okay." Zeb sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. "And you know you can ask for anything from me, right? I just want to help you get – get better, so... ask." He rubbed a thumb over the bandages on Kallus's hand. "And tell me, too. If something's wrong, or you're scared, ‘cause." He stared back out at the wall. "Cause I'm probably scared too. And it's always better to share."

Kallus opened his mouth to say something witty, something clever, something that would set everything right, stop him from hurting Zeb, hurting _anyone_ –

And yawned instead.

Zeb laughed, and Kallus felt it reverberate up and down his body. He laughed, too, until they were a pile of weak, tired giggles, held together by a bunk and a blanket.

"Sleep?" Zeb offered.

"Sounds great." And it did, then, with the laugh still sending shivers down his body, and Zeb's arm holding him close.

It did. And he didn't hurt as much.


End file.
